


The Do's & Don't's of Office Romance

by shipwreckblue



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Artifacts Storage, First Dates, Gen, Hungry Hungry Handbags, Jon is an Archival Assistant, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-26
Updated: 2019-07-26
Packaged: 2020-07-20 13:07:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19992712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shipwreckblue/pseuds/shipwreckblue
Summary: “So! Martin is headed down, did I hear that correctly?” Sasha rests her chin on her folded hands like a psychiatrist about to grill him.“You did, in fact,” Jon says with deliberate nonchalance. He won’t let her get to him that easily. “Is that significant?”“You tell me,” Sasha counters smoothly. “Didn’t you just see him?”Jon raises an eyebrow at her. “To when are you referring?”She huffs and shoves the arm of Jon’s desk chair so that it jostles him. “Oh, come off it. Basira told us at the canteen, all right? Weknowyou two went on a date last night, sohow did it go?”





	The Do's & Don't's of Office Romance

**Author's Note:**

> Another prompt fill! The prompt for this one was "Jon + contentment + a pen;" at some point, it got a lot further away from me. Thanks to the anon who suggested this, and to eyemoji who went absolutely ham the moment I posted this on tumblr.

“We’re going to need,” Gertrude says with all her usual bone-dry calm, “someone from artifacts storage to come down and assist with collecting this.”   
  


Jon can’t tell if the effect of her tone is ruined or enhanced by the fact that she is currently bandaging up a nasty bite on the side of her hand. There is still a low, rumbling growl emanating from the bright pink handbag on her desk, a far deeper and more resonant pitch than Jon has ever heard from an animal that might reasonably fit inside a handbag. He eyes it cautiously. “I suppose that’s for the best… They have the industrial gloves up there, don’t they. One moment and I’ll call someone down.”   
  


“Did someone already see Miss Petersen out?”   
  


He glances over his shoulder, out into the Archives; they are empty. “I… think so yes, a few minutes ago.”   
  


“Good. She ought to be getting along to her mother in the hospital. Judging by the injuries she described, I have a rather bleak idea of how much time the woman may have left.” Gertrude finishes bandaging her hand with a crisp application of medical tape. Jon would have offered to help, but he knows far better by now. “... Anything else?” He asks.   
  


“No, thank you Jonathan, that will be all.” Waving a dismissive hand at him, Gertrude draws a long metal ruler from one of her desk drawers, peering at the handbag’s darkened opening with interest.   
  


“Right.” He’s given up on reminding her that just ‘Jon’ is fine. Apparently her instinct towards propriety is simply too strong to override, which reminds him of his own grandmother at times, although Gertrude is several years younger. He shuts the door to the archivist’s office quietly behind himself and crosses the Archives for the assistants’ area. Sasha’s voice rings clear across the stuffy space. When he approaches, she holds up a finger in front of her lips, and he nods.   
  


“Oh, is that so?” She says into the department phone, putting on her most sugary, wheedling voice. “Yes, that would be beyond helpful. Thanks ever so much... Hmm. Could you repeat that for me, please?” Sasha gestures quickly at Jon across the desk, and he quickly slides a pen and scrap paper over to her. After copying down what looks like an address and a few further details, Sasha says, “Well, you’ve been a wonderful help. I’m sure I’ll have no more trouble getting in touch with her. Oh, and the same to you, sir!” Then she hangs up the phone with a determined crack of the receiver. “God, what a bloody creep.”   
  


Jon tilts his head towards Sasha sympathetically. “And who were you today?”   
  


“Someone’s estranged niece,” she explains. “Trying to track down her aunt in order to make amends with her after the unexpected death of both parents, it’s all very television drama. Lots of people go for that, though!”   
  


Jon perches on the empty chair next to Sasha. “Lots of people actually live for that, from what I gather, although I cannot begin to imagine.” He gestures to the department phone. “Are you finished with that, or…?”   
  


“Hm? Oh, yeah.” She rolls her chair backwards so that he can move in to access it. “What’s the errand this time?”   


“I’m just calling down Artifacts Storage to assist with some kind of carnivorous handbag.”   


Sasha gives him a significant look. “Artifacts Storage, hum?” she asks with very feigned innocence.   


Jon squints at her. “Yes, Artifacts Storage. Unless you think there’s a better place for-”   


She flaps a hand. “No, no, go on.”   


He does, pressing the button for short dial. It only rings twice before a buoyant, familiar voice chimes in from the other end of the line. “Hello, artifacts curation office?”   


“I- Oh. Hello, Martin,” Jon says, working very hard to sound professional while Sasha has turned eyes on him like a bird of prey. “We just need, er, some assistance with, well, there’s. Obviously there’s an artifact. Which, is, why I have rung your department.”   


Somehow Martin’s smile is audible even over the phone. “I see. That’d be in the Archives, then?”   


With some effort Jon refrains from cringing. “Yes, of course, I should have- It’s in the Archives, yes. You’ll want to send someone down with proper equipment to handle, ah, very sharp teeth. It’s aggressive.”   


“Ooh, okay, righto.” There is a muffled clatter on the other end of the line. “Hang tight and I’ll be there in two seconds, let me… just... “   


“Take your time,” Jon says, for lack of anything better, and then has to wait on the line while Martin bangs around in the background and Sasha sits there looking inappropriately smug. He considers taking off his glasses so that he doesn’t have to see her, but Martin is back before it really becomes necessary. “Right, so I’ll see you in a moment?”   


Jon almost nods awkwardly before he remembers they’re on the phone. “...I’m not going anywhere?”   


“Cheers.” With a click, Martin hangs up, presumably to trek down here with whatever containment equipment they reserve for the artifacts with more animalistic attributes. Jon puts the phone down as well, staunchly avoiding eye contact to try and stall whatever Sasha is about to gleefully ask him, but this is another one of those scenarios where his attempts are generally fruitless no matter what.  


“So! Martin is headed down, did I hear that correctly?” Sasha rests her chin on her folded hands like a psychiatrist about to grill him.   


“You did, in fact,” Jon says with deliberate nonchalance. He won’t let her get to him that easily. “Is that significant?”   


“You tell me,” Sasha counters smoothly. “Didn’t you just see him?”   


Jon raises an eyebrow at her. “To when are you referring?”   


She huffs and shoves the arm of Jon’s desk chair so that it jostles him. “Oh, come off it. Basira told us at the canteen, all right? We _know_ you two went on a date last night, so how did it go?”   


“You’d never expect her to be the gossip, and yet,” Jon grumbles, folding his arms crossly and shrinking back into his chair. He may have been caught out, but he’s not about to go quietly along. “Must you insist on involving yourself in my private affairs? It’s downright obnoxious.”   


Sasha rolls her eyes. “It’s not obnoxious, you clown, it’s called having friends. Occasionally, you talk about things that happen in your life. Anyway you were in a positively sunny mood this morning, at least for you. I could just guess how it went, but I’m being friendly.”   


Jon glowers at her. “You’re being insufferable, actually.”   


“Oh, so are we to expect to see you in wedded bliss within the year, or-”   


“ _Fine_ , all right, it was- It was actually bloody awful, on a quality scale of dates I’ve been on, if you must know,” he snaps irritably, and there is a small, ugly satisfaction in the way her face falls.   


“Oh. Are you serious? But- You seemed so pleased this morning.”   


Jon glances over at her again and immediately feels guilty. “I- Well. The first hour really was terrible, and I might even have left if he wasn’t my ride. But he did manage to, shall we say, pull a comeback in the second half.”   


Sasha raises an eyebrow. “Well, go on then.”   


Sighing, Jon folds his hands in his lap and stares at them intently. “He took me to a… Poetry reading. Sort of? One of those loud, microphoned businesses. They all seemed to have it memorized.”   
  
  
“Oh! Slam poetry,” Sasha supplies helpfully. “That actually sounds interesting, I didn’t know Martin was a fan of that sort of thing!”  
  
  
Jon glances up at her, clears his throat. “Apparently he’s… Performed there before. Not- not last night, though, although- “ He makes a small, irritable gesture. “The problem was that we sat so far _up_ , we were right next to one of the speakers and I could hardly _breathe,_ it was so loud. Like someone shouting in your face for twenty minutes at a clip.”  
  
  
Sasha cringes sympathetically. “Okay, yeah, that’s not great. Can’t exactly have any good conversation that way.”   


“If he said anything to me while we were in there I certainly didn’t notice.” Jon snorts. “And the food- Good lord, you wouldn’t believe. One of those co-op cafés, at some point a bit of stale bread showed up on the table with some _disgusting_ sort of, pickled, salmon paste?” The memory makes him shudder, even over twelve hours later.   


Sasha sits up straighter in her chair, hands on her knees, and exhales softly with a quiet _whoof._ “Right. Well, I see what you mean. But he pulled it back?”   


“I- I think he must have noticed, at some point, I had pretty much, er, shut down.” Jon coughs again. “So we went outside, and he said I looked a little green- I wanted to walk a bit, so we did, and then, well, there was a- You know that secondhand bookshop up near Stockwell?”  
  
  
Sasha brightens. “Sure, I’ve canvassed it before. You went there?”  
  
  
“For, um, a couple of hours,” Jon admits quietly, fiddling with one of the pens on the desk to avoid looking at her.  
  
  
“A _couple of hours!_ ” Sasha spins her chair towards him, pointing triumphantly. “I knew there was- What did you do for a _couple_ of _hours?_ What did you do after _that?_ ”   


Jon puffs up his chest a bit, opens his mouth to tell her… Something, either that it’s none of her business, or that they’d actually _talked_ the whole time, that Jon had walked him up to his door, that he’d ridden the tube home at 2AM in some kind of infatuated stupor, but before he can start he is interrupted by the man of the hour himself parading into the Archives, decked out in some jerry-rigged version of riot gear. Jon startles so hard at seeing him he nearly falls out of his chair. Martin beams at the both of them and waves before jogging over.   


“Hey guys! Er, I’m here for the thing with the teeth? You weren’t much more specific than that,” he explains bashfully, gesturing to his outfit, which looks like it could probably sustain an attack by several dogs at once. “So, I figured I had better be more safe than sorry.”   


“That’s not- Not a bad call,” Jon says, wildly avoiding his eyes. It does not stop the blush intent on creeping up from under his collar. “Gertrude is, ah, examining it, in her office, but she might be finished by now.”   


“It’s a handbag,” Sasha supplies, doing a decent but not exemplary job of hiding her amusement. “Pink and frilly. You’ll probably have to muzzle it somehow.”  
  
  
Martin blinks. “Oh, well, I’ve got the equipment for that upstairs. In the meantime I’ll see if I can’t get it to bite down real good on my arm pad and transport it that way. D’you know if it can move around?”  
  
  
“I haven’t recorded or observed any mobile capabilities, no,” Jon replies, straining to sound proper. “More of a, er, Venus Fly Trap sort of situation.”   


Martin salutes cheerily. “Brilliant, that makes my job all the more simple. Suppose I ought to head in before Gertrude tries to feed it something, ey?”   


Sasha grins. “You’d better.”   


“Okay. Well, then I’ll see you at noon, Jon?”   


“What? Oh- Yes, er, yeah, yes, of course,” Jon mutters, this time steadily avoiding Sasha’s extremely significant stare. “Don’t lose any fingers in there.”   


Martin flashes him a warm smile. “And miss lunch with you? Wouldn’t dream of it.” He heads off towards Gertrude’s office, tightening the straps of the pad on his arm and whistling tunelessly. 

“You’re having lunch with him?” Sasha mouths, incredulous, before Martin has even had time to knock on Gertrude’s door. “You went out _last night_ and now you’re _having lunch with him?!_ ”  
  
Jon glances toward the office, checking the coast is clear. Then he chucks a pen at her. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! If you like my content feel free to send me more prompts on my [TMA blog!](https://lostjonscave.tumblr.com/) I've already had requests for more of the "Artifacts Martin" AU, but I can't write without ideas, so if there's anything a little more specific you want to see from this universe, please let me know!


End file.
